


To the End

by dearmrsawyer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/pseuds/dearmrsawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate future to the events of 4x22 "Lucifer Rising". The unfolding of the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sammy, let’s go.”

“Dean – h-he’s coming.”

Sam was frozen stiff, fear carving lines on his face and breathing sharp. Dean looked back to his brother but couldn’t budge him. His hand was grasping Sam’s arm desperately – painfully – but Sam was unmoving, caught in his tracks. Dean yanked on Sam’s arm, calling out to him again, but Sam’s eyes didn’t even flicker towards him. They were trained on the widening gate, mouth agape without any air intake. As the floor before them opened further in a chasm of light, both boys raised their arms in blinding defence, Dean keeping his grip on Sam, but no longer fighting. He threw his brother’s stilled form one more glance before white swallowed his vision and he wondered if death had finally come.

Dean felt his chest expanding with each breath, his eyelids blinking furiously, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Sam – Sam!” He could feel something solid in his fingertips, but he had gone numb and couldn’t tell if it was Sam’s warm arm, of the hand of the devil. There was no reply and Dean wished his body would function, but he wouldn’t move, nor hear anything other than the echo of his own voice. “Sam, god – answer me!”

His voice was gruff, saturated with panic as the white finally began to recede and darken to grey. Dean blinked heavily, squeezing his eyes closed to force the return of his sight, but to no avail. He was left to wait restlessly as the light dimmed enough to reveal silhouettes within the convent. Slowly, candles, the altar, Ruby and Lilith – it all began to solidify in front of him. His fingers began to regenerate their strength and his chest loosened at the feeling of Sam’s jacket under his fingers. Breathing heavy. Dean squinted his eyes as if it would somehow prevent him seeing the inevitable. The light had cleared but his eyes were still adjusting. As everything slipped back into place, Dean found to his surprise that the convent was exactly as it had been before. Looking to the bloody circle that had lit up, he saw that the ground within the ringlet was not a hole or a mound, but the cement ground shattered into a pool of dust. The blood had dried, leaving a red trail which led to Lilith’s mouth. An unsettling silence had overtaken, in sharp contrast to the heaving rumble of Hell’s mouth moments earlier.

With his sight back and no unearthly being before him, Dean’s mind snapped to Sam, whose reciprocated grip had fallen out. His breathing, as opposed to Dean’s, was also abnormally even – smooth, and relaxed. Sam’s body language told Dean that he was at ease.

“Sam. Sam – you ok? Hey, look at me!”

Dean forced Sam to turn, grabbing his other arm and pulling him around. Sam remained still, even after allowing Dean to turn his body. He looked as if he had been switched off, his muscles loose and eyes empty. Dean couldn’t catch Sam’s eyes, but noticed his pupils dilating and trying to focus. He blinked again, and when those eyes opened, Dean’s heart gave way. Sam’s pupils were white. That Winchester green was still there, but paled, and upon closer inspection, Dean discovered white streaks running through his irises. Sam’s eyes suddenly snapped to meet Dean’s, white fusing black, and the elder Winchester stepped back, hands fumbling for anything at his belt.

Sam’s face remained stoic – emotionless. He lowered his eyes to his hands, bringing them up and flexing them, watching the muscles stretch the skin tight, and then relax again. Eyes tracing his own body in inspection, one corner of his mouth twisted into a devious smile, the other corner lifting seconds later to show pearlescent teeth and engraved dimples. He looked at Dean again, unfazed by his brother’s mix of confusion and fear.

“Finally.”

Dean stood, frozen in his presence.

“It’s you, isn’t it.” There was no question in Dean’s voice as he whispered through gritted teeth.

Lucifer breathed a soft laugh, looking around himself at the dusty, cobwebbed convent. Blood still traced the floor, the dim candle flames shrinking at the Prince of Darkness’s presence. He didn’t answer Dean, but simply gave a knowing smile, the whites of his pupils growing in the disappearing light.

“Doesn’t look like much,” he motioned to the room around himself, before letting his hands fall to his sides, feeling their weight. Dean could only watch on as the physical inspection continued, Lucifer seemingly admiring his form.

“Azazel chose well,” he mused, eyes glinting. Somehow, despite their colour, they seemed dark. They embodied pits of eternal darkness and inescapable suffering. They poured hopelessness and despair into all eyes they met. Dean felt himself grow cold, losing hope of any resolution as he shrunk against the wall.

“Azazel’s dead.”

Lucifer looked up at Dean’s shaking yet confident voice. He seemed interested, rather than thrown or saddened.

 “Dead? And I suppose you did it...” he closed his eyes as if searching the crevices of his memory, “... Dean.”

“Damn straight.”

The smirk never slid from his face as he paced, unaffected by the news.

“Well he served his purpose, and especially well. This body is exceptionally capable. Strong and trained, much more than I expected.”

As Lucifer went on, Dean felt himself more and more unsure of what he was saying. Lilith was dead – had that not been Sam’s purpose?

“Oh yes, that was part of it,” Lucifer replied swiftly to his thoughts. “But Sam’s use goes beyond the death of my first. You see,” he continued, and Dean noticed he wasn’t breathing between sentences, “Once my gate had been opened and I released, I needed somewhere to go. Of course I could carve a body for myself, but I prefer to pioneer another for a time. Get the lay of the land, see the sights. I needed a host that could hold me. Besides, this way” – his eyes shifted back to look exactly as Sam’s had – “this way I shall go undetected. A form of my own would be recognised for what it was. You humans may be idiotic, but you would at least have seen me for what I am.”

Lucifer approached Ruby’s paling body, leaning down and stroking one cheek gently. “Such a shame. All her efforts, unrepaid. Of course, she didn’t go without help, did she Dean?” He looked back up at Dean, who remained still, his eyebrows dipping in confusion.

“If Sam hadn’t had a brother to push him away, make him turn to his demon wench for comfort, she would never have won his trust so completely. Oh it’s all true. He’s in here, your brother, feeding me everything.” Lucifer straightened himself, and now he approached Dean, looking down from Sam’s looming height.

“And you’re the one that’s supposed to stop me?” His pupils slid to white again, and he laughed. It was a deep, shuddering laughed, a twisted sound Sam would never utter alone. “These angels, _God_ , they think they’ve got their plan all worked out. That they found their _saviour_.”

Dean found a sliver of courage in the face of suck mockery.

“I’m gonna stop you alright.”

“Oh Dean, don’t be ridiculous,” Lucifer waved him off, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not stopping anything. You’re going to watch this world burn like everyone else. The only difference is—” his tone dropped “—you’re going to know you failed.”

Lucifer’s smirk burned through him, and Dean clenched his jaw, trying to move for Ruby’s knife. It was only then that he realised Lucifer was keeping him in place.

 “Sam always has been the powerful one, but you knew that. It’s why you resented his powers, isn’t it? Sam was the perfect hunter; smart, strong, and demon-proof. You? You’re nothing. Worthless.”

Dean listened with hard eyes, struggling against his invisible bonds as Lucifer’s face crept closer and closer, tauntingly calm.

“And if that’s how worthless you are next to your brother, just think of how vastly insignificant you are next to me. You’re not going to stop me. I have to say, though, Sam would hate to see you burn with the world. I can feel that. And although you’ve proved yourself as nothing but an insect so far, I must admit, you do have potential – when allied with your brother, of course. What do you say you take up ranks with me? You’ll be protected, you’ll be honoured. Take up a ruling seat next to your brother – once I’m done with him of course. How about it: righteousness, or plain old fun?”

“Go – to – Hell,” Dean spat, disgusted.

Lucifer grinned, his eyes sliding back to mimic Sam’s. “I’m done with Hell.” He made to leave the convent, looking back at Dean just before he disappeared. “You’re going to be fun, I can tell.”

Lucifer walked out, releasing Dean from his hold. Running to the door, Dean spied an empty hall – Lucifer was already gone. Falling to his knees, Dean was left screaming Sam’s name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate future to the events of 4x22 "Lucifer Rising". The unfolding of the apocalypse.

Dean thrust his boot into Ruby’s body again and again, pouring out his anger. Her body jolted at the impact, rolling back into place after each kick as it grew steadily stiffer. Every few kicks, Dean would roar out of rage, furious and hopeless. He felt as if he had no way of getting to Lucifer. How was he supposed to find the Devil? No less a Devil wearing his brother.

“Dean.”

A deep voiced stilled his foot, and Dean turned to find Castiel standing in the centre of the convent. His eyes were trained on the circle of gravel from which Lucifer had risen, his steps following the blood trail that led to Lilith’s mouth.

“What’re you doing here? Where’s Chuck?”

“He’s with your friend, Bobby. Dean, we need to stop Lucifer.” The angel turned to face him, features solemn as Dean had come to expect, and hands still scarlet, wet from the sigil that had banished Zachariah.

“Yeah, no kidding. How the hell are we going to stop him?” He’d been too petrified to notice until in Castiel’s still presence, but his hands were shaking violently. All he could see was Sam’s eyes becoming white – Sam’s eyes becoming someone else’s.

Castiel took a series of swift steps towards him and laid a bloody hand on his shoulder. In a second, Dean felt himself being physically compressed, air-tight, and then his eyes were bulging as he gasped for breath in the middle of Bobby’s junkyard. Dean took a moment to find his footing as a rusty creak reeled behind them, revealing Chuck and Bobby; both looked on edge yet relieved all at once.

“H-hey, Dean,” Chuck stuttered, his hands gripping the neck of an alcohol bottle. Bobby gripped his shoulder in a manner that would have doubled for a hug.

 “Hey, Chuck. What... how’d you ditch the arch-angel?” Dean asked, memories of the last time he’d seen the prophet rushing to the front of his mind.

“Castiel, he teleported us here. I don’t know how exactly, but... one minute I was thinking the room was gonna come down on us, next thing we’re standing out here.” Chuck’s shaky voice was silenced by a swig from his bottle.

“Dean, you must get inside – now,” Castiel ordered.

“No – I have to find Sam.”

“I will find Sam.”

“You aren’t gonna leave me sitting in this house while my brother’s out there, literally with the Devil in him—”

“This is the only place you are safe,” Castiel interjected. His voice lost its grave tone and took on a more aggressive pitch that shocked Dean into silence. “Angels will not be able to intercede with you here.”

Dean’s eyes scanned Bobby’s house; it looked as it always had, and he recalled that angel-proofing symbols weren’t visible to human eyes.

“So what, we all hang here and you go after Lucifer?”

“I am going to try to find a way to kill him.”

“I thought that was my job.”

“Do you know how?”

Dean opened his mouth as a reflex, but didn’t have an answer.

“I will return soon. Stay in the house.”

The breeze picked up, Dean blinked, and the angel was gone.

***

Dean spent the next twelve hours pacing Bobby’s living room. He neither ate, drank nor slept. Chuck remained at the window, hands shuffling pages of dream records absent-mindedly while his eyes remained trained on the world outside. It was as if he was waiting for the world to come crashing down before him. Bobby had been reading all night, flipping through books and throwing them carelessly to the floor once he realised they were no help.

It was an irrational train of thought, but Dean was only half-thinking about the apocalypse. Sam clouded his mind. His brother was out there right now, his body under Lucifer’s control. Who knew in what state the Prince of Darkness would leave it. Dean would save his brother before he saved the world.

The moon had fallen and the sun hung low in the sky. The new day had dawned over an earth still existent, but all were uneasy. Bobby had fallen asleep at his desk as the sun had began to rise, and Chuck’s face was pressed against the pane of glass, the drained bottle now lying at his feet. The light glared into the living room, catching Dean’s eyes, and he looked out to the serene junkyard, wondering how such peace could reside when turmoil reigned within his chest. Squinting, his eyes fell on an erect figure, its coat still in the absent wind. Castiel stood patient, eyes on Dean, but not beckoning. He waited for the Winchester to come out to him.

The front door of the small house squeaked when open, falling shut easily as the joints favoured the motion. His eyes shrank against the bare sun as his feet threw up clouds of dust.

“So? Do you know how to kill him?” Dean’s heart was pounding relentlessly. The thought of Lucifer led him to Sam, and their fates now joined.

“I believe Lucifer has returned as a fallen angel. It is his state, whether imprisoned or liberated.”

“He didn’t have yellow eyes—”

“Azazel was not a power as great as Lucifer. To have an angel of this calibre fall, the creation becomes far more mutilated than even a demon.”

“So what, then?”

“Even if fallen, he is still an angel.”

“And how do you kill an angel?”

“Come.”

Dean felt a firm hand on his shoulder and without warning was being squeezed through space once again, compressed and tight before his lungs were gulping in air faster than his muscles could contract.

“Where... where the hell are we?”

Dean looked around himself as Castiel leaving his side with eyes low. They stood in a clearing outside a worn, rusty warehouse. Although built of iron and concrete, it seemed ready to crumble. The dirty ground was littered with industrial debris, prohibiting vegetation from spreading life into the site.

“Cas?”

“This is where you tortured Alistair,” he replied swiftly, vision trained to the ground.

“Ok, so what’re we doing here?”

Castiel didn’t answer, but continued to inspect the gravelled dirt beneath their feet, coming to a stop dead in the middle of the clearing. Raising an arm, the atmosphere seemed to become unnaturally still for a moment, before the earth below his hand shuddered and a metallic object pushed through the ground, fighting its way up. Dean watched on as Castiel retrieved a blade unlike anything he’d seen from its grave.

 “What is that?”

“This is Lucifer’s sword. The only way to kill an angel, Dean, is at the hand of another angel. Lucifer’s sword is the only weapon I know of capable of such an act in the right hands.”

“So we need to stab Lucifer?”

“Yes.”

“No. No way in hell.”

“Dean—”

“We stab Lucifer and we stab Sam. I am _not_ killing my brother.”

“Dean it’s the only way. This world will fall if you do not do this.”

“Did you not hear me? I am – not – going to put this through Sam. I won’t do it.”

“Lucifer knows you are the chosen one. This is merely his attempt to stop you—”

“You listen to me and you listen good.” Dean took a step towards the angel, his face inches away as his voice dropped to an aggressive whisper. “I won’t kill my brother. I don’t care if that messes with your big picture or whatever you guys have been planning up there. Sam is not going to get hurt.”

“The night that Uriel died, he turned.” Castiel suddenly hardened, and Dean shrank away instinctively. “When he went against us, Anna killed him with this sword. This, Dean, is our only hope of killing Lucifer.” The two stared intently, waiting for the other to break.

“This is _not_ our plan,” Dean breathed, walking a few paces away to give himself space. “Let’s go back to Bobby’s; there’s gotta be something else.”

“Your efforts are in vain, Dean.”

“ _Let’s go to Bobby’s_ ,” Dean enforced. Castiel sighed, looking up at him with warm eyes. He held Dean’s arm and in a moment the glade was vacant once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate future to the events of 4x22 "Lucifer Rising". The unfolding of the apocalypse.

The town was quaint, composed of streets wide and clean, with gardens placed strategically on street corners. The single-unit stores were lined demurely, modest rather than over-advertised. A tall man walked the swept sidewalk, polite locals nodding their heads as they made eye contact. A young woman, no more than twenty-five or so, knocked his shoulder as she was heading in the opposite direction and apologised profusely before heading on her way with a wide grin.

The man reached a crossing, waiting patiently with the other pedestrians for the green light. Just opposite, he spotted ‘Dress and Disguise’, and grinned. Once allowed passage he made his way directly into the vibrant shop, a bell announcing his arrival. Cerulean eyes scanned the store, taking in the costumes assembled on racks and hung on every wall. Higher up there were shelves of masks, funny or fearsome, as well as hats. To his immediate right were accessories, and to the right of that was a cluttered counter. Toward this his feet took him, looking at the many pairs of lashes, contacts and nails available. Beneath the glass counter-top were jewels, large and small, some connected to chains.

“Won’ be a moment!” a strained voice called from an unknown location. The man’s eyes rolled from side to side, trying to locate the source. There was the thud of a bat being put down, and then a small section of the wall swung forward to reveal a doorway hidden behind costume hangings.

From this secret door came a man no taller than five and a half feet. He was dressed in an odd assortment of clothes, comprised of a maroon suit embroidered in an elaborate gold design. Beneath that were a maroon shirt and a silk, gold tie. The man was balding severely; however the circular glasses dressed his head well, the thin gold frames glinting equally as much as the gold chain hanging behind his ears.

 “Ah, hello sir! After anything in particular today? Something for a special occasion?”

“Oh, I’m just exploring,” the customer mused, his mouth twisting into a smile. The man behind the counter reflected the sentiment enthusiastically with, “Oh yes, yes of course. Well let me know if you see anything of interest. We have a very wide selection for all your celebratory needs.”

The shopkeeper watched as this gentleman remained in place, simply looking around, rather non-committal. He wasn’t sure of whether to offer further assistance, settling for polite conversation.

“Good fellow, are you new in town? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, and I’m very good with faces,” he winked.

“Simply passing through,” a light voice replied. He twisted his head back to the counter, and the shopkeeper’s face paled as he stumbled backwards into a coat rack.

The man’s eyes shone white, glazing over inhumanly. The store owner made to leave, but his posture stiffened and his eyes flew wide with a sharp intake of breath. A tear of blood formulated in the corner of his right eye, falling in a perfect line down his face. A second traced the red streak as his left eye followed suit. Blood foamed at the mouth, the store owner’s throat clogged and gurgling as he attempted to breathe. His knees buckled and he came crashing down, blood pooling beneath his head. His fingers twitched as the life bled out of him, soon falling still.

Lucifer tipped his head in pleasure, smirking before he exited the store.

***

Dean and Bobby were pushing forty-five hours sleepless, eyes aching. They had made their way through a substantial amount of the library, hell-bent on a solution. Dean felt his body protesting consciousness, but pushed himself on regardless, for Sam. He had to save Sam; Dean wasn’t going to let his brother die, not even for Lucifer.

Forehead throbbing as the creases began to feel permanent, Dean used the pain to keep himself awake. Over in the living room, Chuck was snoring deeply on the lounge, his face half-buried in a cushion that released dust particles at every exhale. Just behind him was the window, and beneath the moonlight was a solid silhouette standing solitary in the yard. In its hand Dean could see Lucifer’s blade. Clenching his teeth and slamming down his book, Dean stormed out of the house. Bobby jumped at the thud and Chuck roused from his snooze, all eyes watching Dean as he headed out the door.

Castiel’s eyes were sad and regretful, and had Dean cared to notice this, he would have realised he’d never seen such emotion playing on an angel’s face.

 “Have you found your solution?” he asked, and this only infuriated Dean more. The question made it clear that Castiel knew well they had found nothing.

 “I’m not doing this.”

“Dean – I’m sorry. It’s the only way.”

“You listen to me—”

“Dean—”

“—I don’t care if this is God’s will or plan. I don’t care if He comes down here Himself. If He’s not happy, He’s gonna have to kill me, because I’m not following His _supposed_ orders anymore.”

Bobby and Chuck had come out into the yard, Chuck’s eyes flickering nervously between Dean and his own hands. Castiel tipped his head to look around Dean and at the prophet.

“Chuck.”

Flinching under his name, Chuck released a squeaky sound from his throat to acknowledge that he knew what Castiel was asking. Dean’s hard eyes waited for Chuck to speak.

“I—I had a dream. Another one of my... prophecies.”

“And?” Castiel probed knowingly.

Chuck looked up at Dean, his hands shaking and mouth hanging slightly open.

“I—” he looked at Dean. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Dean pressed, becoming angrier at the suspense.

“It’s Sam. He... he was Lucifer. And you—you—”

“I _what_ , Chuck?”

“... Stabbed him.”

Castiel dropped his eyes, staring silently at the ground. Chuck appeared to be both apologetic and terrified of what Dean would do to him. Bobby’s mouth was gaping, muted against his absence of suggestion.

Dean’s eyes bored deeply into Chuck’s. On the outside he had hardened, however inside his heart was beating without rhythm and his stomach was still falling. It had been a hard truth coming, and Dean had even suspected those very words, but to hear it was a blow nonetheless.

“You’re wrong,” he said finally, raising his chin slightly to look further down at Chuck. Nobody had the courage to reiterate to Dean that denying a prophecy would not erase destiny.

“It’s what I saw,” Chuck uttered in barely more than a whisper, his shaking hands grasping each other for support. Dean looked over to Castiel, whose face was bordering pity.

“Dean—”

“Don’t you go on about how you can’t change divine prophecy. Don’t you...” he trailed off, catching himself before his voice broke. Castiel took a step towards him. Dean steeled himself, his eyes meeting the angel. “Don’t you dare.”

 “Chuck’s visions are absolute.” He spoke in a low voice.

“I’ve had just about all I can take from visions in my lifetime.”

“It’s the only way. I _am_ sorry—”

“Don’t you apologise to me – don’t speak like Sam’s already...” He stopped mid-sentence again, turning to face the horizon.

“I _may_ be able to...” Castiel began slowly, his eyebrows high in a musing state, though his voice didn’t reflect it. “To bring your brother back. If there’s enough human left in him.”

This didn’t necessarily console nor encourage Dean. There was no guarantee that Castiel would be able to save Sam, and Dean wasn’t willing to risk the mess of deals his family had been burdened with for what he now knew had been his whole life.

“You don’t know that,” he told Castiel, walking over to sit himself down on a car hood. When seated, he picked up Lucifer’s sword and fingered the hilt slowly. “How do you know this blade isn’t so powerful that it overrides your mojo? I mean it’s _supposed_ to kill angels. Maybe it’s greater than all your damn powers.”

“Dean, angels and humans... they don’t live by the same rules. That which is directed at a human’s mortality will have no affect on an angel. And vice versa,” he added.

“Cas has a point, Dean,” Bobby sighed, grimacing at the very thought of himself resigning to this. “There’s lore of weapons being made specifically to address certain creatures. If this knife is made to destroy an angel at its core, it could be possible to bring back a human, since it wasn’t necessarily the mortal in Sam that it was being directed toward.”

As Bobby spoke, Dean kept his eyes on Castiel. The angel wore a blank face, now void of even pity. It was as if the emotional reservoir he possessed, however shallow, had been emptied in the face of the apocalypse.

Bobby let the dusty volume in his hand fall to the bench beside himself. “Dean, it doesn’t look like we’ve got much choice here. We’ve been researching for hours and there ain’t no way of getting Lucifer out of Sam’s meat suit before icing him—”

“I’m not killing my brother!” Dean roared, silencing Bobby and making Chuck jump two feet in the air.

“Then you condemn this world to its end,” Castiel said, his voice defiant. For the first time since their first meeting, Castiel appeared to Dean as a greater being than he.

Chuck took a swig from his fresh bottle, his hands shaking so aggressively that some alcohol spilled onto the dirt at his feet. Eyes squeezed shut, Dean felt the salty build up of tears, but tried not to let them spill out. It would be Cold Oak all over again, he thought with clenched fists. Only this time, Sam’s death would be at his own hands.

“Dean—” Bobby began, but he was cut off.

“Just! ... Just...” Dean clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to explode all over Bobby for merely supporting this lunacy. The man knew how important Sam was to him. Yet another part of Dean reiterated that yes, Bobby did understand Sam’s worth to Dean, and despite that he still believed this was their only hope.

Dean thought back to his father’s orders about Sam.

_He said that I had to... save you._

_And that if I couldn’t, I’d... I’d have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy._

Had John known this much? Could he have worked out Yellow-Eyes’ plan to this extent? Dean had fought his father’s instructions for a long time, and now it had come to this: Sammy carrying the Devil inside of him.

Fist balling tighter, he held it up over his forehead, pressing it into the skin. Thumping it down furiously on the fender beneath him, he yelled loudly, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. Castiel merely bowed his solemn head with: “We will do all we can to save Sam.”

Chuck looked queasy at the idea of facing Lucifer in combat, and Bobby pulled his cap down to hide the emotion welling in his eyes. It was no easy feat for him to reach this conclusion either.

Dean stood up rather rapidly, causing Chuck and Bobby to jump. Game face on, Dean suppressed the cyclone in his chest and approached Castiel.

 “So how do we do this?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate future to the events of 4x22 "Lucifer Rising". The unfolding of the apocalypse.

The weather was uncommonly fair. A most enticing breeze rolled in from the bay, balancing the warm sun and temperature. The water was almost white, sparkling blindingly; families and small boats dotted the docks and blazing surface.

A tall, built man strolled the path leisurely, his green eyes bright under the sun. He smiled at the pedestrians jogging past, grinned friendly at mothers pushing prams, and even helped a cyclist dislodge his front wheel from a ditch in the sidewalk.

Parachuters floated from above, coming to land gently on the grassy field just over the road. What appeared to be a highway through town ran around the bay and crossed a majestic bridge. The structure took up the tall man’s gaze as the path disappeared on the suspended bridge; there was only room was vehicles to cross. He ran his hand smoothly across the steel frame, breaking the connection only for a second to let his fingers soar through the air and rest on the base of a beam that rose metres and metres over the water. Caressing it gently, his eyes wandered over the marvellous creation, the crossing girders and thick wires holding everything in place as cars raced past him on their way. It was an architectural marvel, in the eyes of men. This man pulled back his hand, turning away from the bridge.

Lucifer wandered along the side of the highway heading out of town, thinking to himself just how futile humans were; and a mile behind him, the bridge came crashing down.

***

“So tell me what we’re doing again?” Dean said, his face set against acceptance, moulded into scepticism.

“Defeating Lucifer is your destiny, Dean. Only an angel can wield Lucifer’s sword against another angel.”

“Well I’ve got news for you – I’m no angel,” Dean snapped stubbornly.

“That is what we’re fixing.”

“So what, you’re going to beam me up and make me a divine messenger? No offence, but I don’t think that’s exactly going to work.” Dean knew he wasn’t being the most helpful weapon against the apocalypse, but he didn’t care. If moving forward would only lead him to killing Sam, there was little left to care about.

“Not exactly,” Castiel answered, his face remaining plain as he failed to detect the sarcasm clogging the air. He approached Dean, who steeled himself warily and raised a hand, pressing his palm flat against the Winchester’s forehead. Dean recoiled, aware that ordinarily this would be the last thing a demon ever experienced.

“What’re you doing!?”

“Relax.”

Unable to help but notice that Castiel hadn’t answered the question, Dean screwed up his eyes against a blindingly white light that began to erupt from Castiel’s hand. It was so bright that closing his eyes seemed to do nothing at all, and his forehead burned mercilessly. Dean groaned through gritted teeth, feeling the heat stretch to the back of his skull, and then inflame each bone in his body. Castiel’s hand began to feel like an anchoring weight, and all these sensations steadily increased before everything was numb. Castiel removed his hand to alleviate the pressure, and Dean remained standing where he was, feeling weightless.

Swaying unsteadily, Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he noticed Castiel standing silently before him. Raising a hand to clutch his head and compose himself, Dean found the skin was still warm, as if he was running a high fever.

“There” Castiel concluded, much to Dean’s bemusement.

“There’s what? What did you just do to me?”

“I made sure you could fulfil your destiny.”

“You son of a—you know how much that stings?” Dean raised his free hand to point to his own forehead and Castiel was suddenly jolted back a step, as if by force. The angel was thrown for only a second, before he had regained his composure and was looking at Dean pointedly.

“What the...” Dean spoke slowly, releasing the grip on his head and furrowing his brow. “Was that... me?”

“Yes,” the angel confirmed. Dean cocked his head, jerking his hand out again and watching as Castiel flew back another foot. Squinting his eyes and raising his chin suspiciously, Dean threw his hand out again, effectively knowing Castiel back a third time.

 “Ok, Dean.”

Dean’s face fell as he came to his senses, apologising. His hands looked perfectly normal, but he knew looking down at them that there was a new power just under the skin.

“So what, am I supposed to be an angel now?”

“No,” Castiel declined, coming closer again.

Dean paused “Well then how does this help me? You said only an angel—”

“You have the capabilities and potential of an angel. Your body may still be human at its core, but you know have every trait of an angel within you, therefore you will affect everything on this earth as an angel would.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, dropping them to look at his hands again. They looked the same.

Turning around and taking in the junkyard, his vision landed on a stray tyre lying in the dirt. Raising his hand, he tried to command the spare part to move. Straining himself, his head throbbing and finger muscles seizing up with effort, the wheel suddenly wobbled and rose into the air before dropping back down in a cloud of dust five metres back. Gasping, Dean gaped at his own ability, turning back to Castiel with wide eyes.

“You must get greater control over these abilities before you are able to weigh them against Lucifer.” Castiel solemn eyes bored into him, and for no more than a moment Dean allowed himself to revel in these new powers. This was immediately squashed by the knowledge that Sam would be the one to feel the blow of his empowered fist. As Castiel began instructing him on how to harness the force now inside him, Dean tried not to think about the fact that in attempting to destroy the Devil, he may well destroy his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate future to the events of 4x22 "Lucifer Rising". The unfolding of the apocalypse.

Light footsteps made their way across an open landscape. There were no homes or parks, simply overgrown fields of abandoned farmland. This area had long been forgotten as society progressed and relocated, pushing infrastructure to the coast and leaving their homes just out of sight of the ocean.

Lucifer followed an old railroad no longer in use, his shoes scraping on rust and stepping over weeds that had wound their way around the steel. Something inside him felt a slight _pull_ and he stopped walking, redirecting his path away from the tracks and towards a small, stone structure half a mile in. It appeared to be a relatively long walk, but the angel swept across it swiftly, coming to stand in front of two solid doors. In the centres was an iron pentagram, bound by a power difficult to overcome.

Smirking lightly, Lucifer pulled a slender colt from his jacket pocket, letting it rest in his hands. His eyes washed over the weapon, taking in the inscriptions and delicate handiwork. Turning the gun over, he forced it into the slot of the pentagram, listening to the metal within unhinge and begin to spin.

Stepping back, there was a deep rumbling that spread from the ground, echoing into the sky above, and then the gates burst open, expelling a thick wave of black smoke that came screaming into the clear day air. Lucifer felt the wind on his face as a sea of demons spilled out, their cries of freedom and chaos filling the sky. The heavy flow was steady for minutes, souls and dark creatures finding the light and shooting off to find a place for their cursing hands across the globe. Lucifer watched with delight.

***

Chuck flinched at the sound of crunching metal, taking another swig from the fresh bottle in his hands.

Castiel nodded approvingly as Dean resigned from practise for the time being, chugging down what remained of his beer.

“Very good,” Castiel said in that voice void of positivity. Dean nodded, but his attitude had only reached half-hearted at best. Every action was tainted with the image of Sam being on the other end.

“I believe you’re now relatively prepared.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Yoda,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“At least you’re more of a match for Lucifer,” Bobby chimed in gruffly, coming outside with his arms full of maps and paper.

“You got something, Bobby?” Dean asked in the hope of requiring no response about his new-found powers.

“I think so,” the elderly man replied confidently, dumping the pile in his arms on the hood of a car and flattening one of the maps. “There’ve been omens sighted in these regions—” he pointed out a few scattered locations, “—and there was a murder over at Brookside, Delaware. Bloke bled dry from the mouth.” The other three grimaced, Chuck’s eyes bulging in horror. “Now I got a call from one of my contacts over in Ocean City, and he told me that yesterday, just inland of town, there was an almighty blow like a volcano, and since then the weather’s been nothing but cloudy. Black clouds,” he added meaningfully, and something clicked in Dean’s mind.

“Just like when we opened the Devil’s Gate in Wyoming.”

“Yep.”

“You think there’s another one over there?”

“I checked it out, and there appears to be another pentagram railroad with a deserted building smack-bang in the middle.”

“So Lucifer’s going around, busting open the Devil’s gates?” Dean mused.

“What better way to start Hell on Earth than by opening the doorway in between.”

“But that means he’s got the Colt—”

“Who knows what happened to it after it was in Bella’s hands. If she gave it to Lilith like she said, then it’s been in demon ranks for months, just waiting for Lucifer.”

“We need to go,” Castiel interjected urgently, reaching out a hand towards Dean’s forehead.

Bobby’s own arm flew out and blocked the road. “Hey woah, hold on a minute. Do we even have a plan?”

“Dean must defeat Lucifer.”

“Yeah, that’s all well and good but I don’t think a day of practising his telekinesis is gonna qualify him for a battle with Satan himself.”

“We must hurry,” the angel insisted. “If Lucifer has already begun opening the gates then we’re losing time.”

“Bobby, I can handle him,” Dean said confidently.

“Son, I’m don’t think you can.”

“There’s no time.” Castiel’s hand stretched forward before Bobby could stop it, and then he was standing alone with Chuck in his junkyard.

“What’re _we_ supposed to do?!” he called out to the open air.

***

Dean heaved, trying to pull air into his lungs as quickly and plentifully as possible. He still wasn’t used to that. The ground felt extra solid under his feet, holding him in place as he attempted to regain his bearings. Meanwhile, Castiel had wandered off behind him.

It wasn’t until Dean was breathing easily again that he realised the roar of rushing air behind him, ruffling his clothes.

“Cas?” he questioned, eyes wide once he’d turned around.

“Lucifer has already been here,” Castiel said. The two of them stared at the open gate, watching as the odd demon would erupt from the fires within. Dean’s mind returned to southern Wyoming, and he thought of his father. It all felt like a lifetime ago, and yet here he was, come full circle, dealing with the same problems on a bigger scale.

“Dean, we must close the gate.”

“And how’re we supposed to do that?” Dean asked critically, squinting against the more-than-warm glow.

Castiel raised his arms out as if to offer an embrace, but Dean heard the heavy Devil’s Gate groaning. The strain in Castiel’s face revealed that this may take more than the strength of a single angel, and that’s when it hit him.

Mimicking Castiel’s stance, Dean tried to will the doors closed, and to his pleasure he saw the doors shuddering under the pressure, creaking with effort. The two poured all their efforts into closing the gates, eventually managing to stop the flow of demons and spirits as the doors to Hell were closed once more.

“Now what?” Dean asked, panting. He noticed that Castiel showed no signs of exhaustion.

“Now—”

“Dean.”

The two wheeled around to see Anna standing solitary behind them. She appeared to be a little worse-for-wear. Even worse than last time Dean had seen her.

“Anna?” he breathed, amazed. “But I thought you were like... grounded from earth or something.”

“What with Lucifer topside and all, there’s been some lapse in discipline up in Heaven recently. Attention focused elsewhere,” she explained, walking forward swiftly. It always threw Dean, the way angels moved as if they were gliding.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked, and Dean noticed a sense of remorse.

“Helping, obviously.” Anna seemed to have tapped back into the celestial soldier she had once been, on duty. “There’s no time to worry about your past, Castiel. I’m here and we’ve got to hurry.”

Castiel stared, his eyes flickering between hers, before hardening again and turning to Dean with determination.

“Now we check the next Devil’s Gate.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate future to the events of 4x22 "Lucifer Rising". The unfolding of the apocalypse.

Standing back, colt-in-hand and smile firmly in place, Lucifer watched as the fourth Devil’s Gate stood before him. Feeling relatively self-satisfied, he sauntered forward.

“Not so fast,” a deep voice interrupted. Lucifer stopped calmly in his tracks, turning to see Castiel, flanked by Dean and Anna a few metres back, their brows mutually furrowed. Initially, Dean didn’t react to seeing Lucifer, but to seeing Sam, and it took a second’s thought to remind him that this wasn’t his brother. Not anymore.

“Ah, Dean. I wondered if you’d catch up to me.”

“I’m faster than you think,” he smirked.

“I must admit, I am impressed,” Lucifer nodded, his stance casual. “And this must be Castiel, Batman to your Robin.” He smirked in the angel’s direction, but earned no reaction in return.

“Watch who you’re calling Robin,” Dean told him, and the hint of a smile shadowed his features. “I don’t do spandex.”

Lucifer didn’t get a chance to wonder what he’d meant before Dean had disappeared. However surprised, the fallen angel wasn’t fooled, and spun around to freeze Dean in his place before he had a chance to attack. Laughing, he jutted his palm out and sent the Winchester flying back, as Castiel and Anna sped forward.

 “I don’t think so.” With the wave of a hand they were frozen, the dark blade held firmly in Castiel’s hand. Lucifer stepped forward, plucking the sword from Castiel’s grasp.

“I’ve really missed this thing,” Lucifer mused aloud while he paced, sparing a glance for Castiel, who fruitlessly struggled to free himself. “I always wondered where it had gone. Never did I suspect my brothers would choose to wield it – a creation they condemned! Funny, what happens to even the greatest of beings then they feel there’s no other option.” He looked back up at Anna and Castiel from behind, slightly amused. “I guess we all have some darkness in us.”

At that moment he shifted the blade into one hand and forced it through Anna’s throat.

“Anna!” Dean roared from his distant position as the angel stiffened, her eyes bulging; the sword, still attached to Lucifer’s hand, was all that held her body up. He released it, letting her fall to the ground with the weapon still buried in her neck. Her mouth gaped, aglow, as her eyes, and then entire body lit up. Dean flinched as a wave of light exploded from her, engulfing the open field and dazzling them all momentarily.

As Castiel stared down at the lifeless vessel, his eyebrows knit, Lucifer wore a self-satisfied expression. He walked away from the scene and toward the Devil’s Gate, and Dean rushed to Anna’s side, noticing under his feet the dark outline of her wings. Once holding her body in his arms, he noticed it was ice cold, no trace of human warmth.

Lucifer regained the Colt from his pocket, striding to the gate when Castiel was in front of him once more. He remained cool and collected in the face of his younger brother, putting his weight onto one foot.

“This is really quite ridiculous. I mean what do you plan to do here, Castiel? You’re no match for me. Watch.” Without even lifting a hand, Lucifer sent his brother flying, but this time Castiel recovered swiftly, back to block the Colt. He strained to maintain Lucifer under his control, but he was no competition for the fallen angel, who countered the effects. Castiel found his grounding on a pile of rocks.

Satisfied, Lucifer continued on his way, unaware of the fast-approaching Winchester. Now bleeding, Castiel made one last attempt at guarding the road, and although it failed miserably, sending him on a fast fall to the ground, it afforded Dean just enough time to appear by Lucifer’s side. With one hand on his brother’s shoulder, he swung Lucifer around with the weight of lead under his fingers. He chanced one look into Sam’s ocean-green eyes before thrusting the blade through the angel’s throat.

The field descended into a distinct absence of sound, and Lucifer swayed uneasily with his eyes to the heavens. Dean jerked the sword back, leaving a gaping wound at the base of his brother’s neck. Almost gracefully, Lucifer fell back. His eyes, almost-shut, shot open and out of his mouth came a mighty roar – a deep bellow that shook the foundations of the earth and sent thunder breaking across the sky. Dean could hear Sam’s voice in there somewhere as he covered his ears, watching Lucifer’s features light up the purest of white. It was a white he’d seen only once before: St Mary’s Convent. Dean fell to the ground and shielded his eyes as light erupted, enveloping the valley in a powerful blast infinitely greater than Anna. Through his eyelids Dean could see the light dimming, and once it was mostly gone he opened them in time to see his brother’s eyes return to a dull blue. He was Lucifer no more; now he was simply Sam.

Dean sat, motionless, by Sam’s body, watching at how the wound barely bled. He lay there almost peacefully, head leaning limply to the side and hair resting lightly against his forehead. Dean reached out a tentative hand, letting it sit against Sam’s chest. There was really no point to it, but Dean was torn between checking to feel if Sam’s heart was beating, and the fear of finding that it wasn’t. Even through the layers of clothing, Dean knew Sam’s heart was still.

First he felt empty, void, like his own heart had stopped pumping life as well. It took a couple of silent minutes for reality to close in and beat down on him with the truth: Sam was gone at his hands. Gritting his teeth, Dean held back the urge to wretch, slumping forward as tears spilled out. Hot, salty drops soaked his cheeks, his hands, and Sam’s jacket as he bent over his brother, hands balling to clutch at Sam’s clothes desperately.

Castiel walked away from Anna’s stilled form and approached. His face was more solemn than ever, lowered, as if in mourning. Dean waited for the angel to make a move, take charge, but when he did nothing, Dean looked up expectant and angry.

 “You said—”

“I can’t bring him back, Dean.”

Dean released Sam, lunging violently for Castiel, who stopped his with the raise of a hand. Dean tried to fight, struggling against an invisible force, but Castiel repeated his name, trying to grab Dean’s attention.

“Dean.” His eyes were narrowed, hard, when Dean finally looked up at him, breathing raggedly. “I can’t, but you can.”

Dean struggled less, his muscles losing their tension.

“You and Sam share blood. With the powers you now possess, _you_ will be able to regenerate your brother.”

Castiel had released his hold on Dean now, watching as the elder brother looked down at his sibling with grief, fear and doubt. In amongst all this, Castiel traced a sliver of hope.

“What do I have to do?” Dean wheezed, speaking through his emotion and thundering chest; his hands began trying to wipe his face dry.

“You need to cleanse him. Even in death, he is tainted.”

“Cleanse—?”

“Exorcise. As I would a demon.”

Dean remembered witnessing the angels’ method of exorcising vividly, nodding slowly.

“That is what you have to do. Focus your energies on extracting everything dark from your brother, like a vacuum.”

Castiel stepped back, which Dean took as the end of his instructions. Although still slightly unsure, Dean kneeled slowly by his brother – it took a great deal of effort not to fall. Looking at his own palm, Dean tried to remember the feeling of power from when he had first been taught. Stretching his hand over Sam’s forehead, Dean prepared himself, but Castiel cut him off.

“Not his head. The wound.”

Dean’s eyes dropped to the small pool of blood at the base of Sam’s neck, and he hesitantly let his hand rest there, feeling ill at having contact with his brother’s blood. Holding back the thought that this was the second time Dean had watched his brother die, he tried desperately to focus on the fact that if Cas was right, he would also see Sam return a second time.

Eyes closed, Dean tried to will Sam’s body clean. It was difficult to focus, but the consequence of being absent-minded kept him on task. He tried to feel that power in his palm again, perhaps even the power inside Sam. Something unusual was stirring within, which Dean initially took for nausea over Sam. It was something deeper, however, something that wasn’t _of_ Dean. He opened his eyes to see his hand glowing faintly. It was working. Pulling harder, there was an instant where Dean felt himself reach the contamination, and it threatened to fight off and defeat him; but Dean’s will won out, and Sam’s mouth and eyes lit up as Dean used all his strength to wrench Sam’s darkness out.

As soon as the energy possessed him, it vanished. Drained and panting, Dean removed his hand and tried to allow his eyes to adjust once the bright light had gone out. Removing his hand, where the wound had been, there was now little more than a bloody patch of skin. All that remained was a blackened scar, like a stain.

Dean’s eyes looked urgently to his brother’s, but no change came about. Sam remained as immobile as ever.

“Cas...” Dean’s voice panicked and breaking.

Before the angel had time to respond, Sam took a deep, gasping breath. His eyes flew wide and chest expanded suddenly.

Dean’s own heart almost gave out, but began beating erratically the second he processed Sam’s movements. Sam was moving. Sam was alive.

“Sammy,” he breathed, closing his eyes and reaching to pull his brother into an embrace. He felt warm, as he always had, as if nothing had ever gone wrong. Dean smiled as he felt Sam’s heart thumping against his own chest.

“Dean,” Sam said in a raspy voice. “Dean I—I can’t—I’m—”

“I know, Sammy. It’s alright.” Dean pulled away and held his brother at arm’s length, feeling the tears dripping from his chin.

Behind the reunion, Castiel had stepped back a few paces to pick up the infamous Colt, standing on the opposite side of Sam to Dean, silent. The elder Winchester didn’t look away from his brother easily, but when he did, Castiel handed the gun over, instructing,” Keep this safe.”

Dean found no response came to mind, watching with one hand on Sam’s shoulder as Castiel returned to Anna’s side. He lifted her into his arms, and in a blink the two were gone in a flurry of wind. A pang of sadness struck Dean’s heart at the life that had been lost in the battle, but his mind couldn’t afford much time away from Sam.

“Come on, let’s go.” Dean pulled Sam shakily to his feet. Sam looked about himself, scanning the field, confused.

“Where’s the car?” he asked.

Dean grinned, placing a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ve learnt a few new tricks.”


End file.
